


you and i, forever

by bellarkesupernova



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt, canonverse, clarke loses her caucasian mind when bellamy is hurt what else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10732428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellarkesupernova/pseuds/bellarkesupernova
Summary: Bellamy gets injured trying to save Octavia’s life, and Clarke loses her mind."They were always supposed to be together. At the end of the day—at the end of the world—it was supposed to be them standing side by side."





	you and i, forever

Clarke burst through the doors of the tower and counted the rooms she passed, running, until she reached the one Abby told her she would find Bellamy. She didn’t have all the details of what had happened, just that Bellamy ended up with a sword through his abdomen. Abby had radioed her right away.  
  
Scared as she was for what she would see, she quickly opened the door and took in the sight in front of her.  
  
There he was, lying unconscious on a table, his shirt torn open to access the wound, sweat beading on his forehead. Bloody gauze was everywhere. He looked so close to death, his skin paler than she’d ever seen it (including that time Murphy had infected the whole camp with that virus), but there he was. Alive. Barely.

Octavia was sitting in a chair next to him, her face expressionless as she wiped his face with a wet cloth. She was cleaning off blood.  
  
“What the hell happened, Octavia?” Clarke asked, quickly making her way to the two Blake’s.  
  
“I told him I was fighting for trikru. I told him I could handle it. He’s such an idiot.” Octavia replied without looking up at Clarke.  
  
“What the hell happened?” Clarke asked again, taking the rag from Octavia’s hand and forcing her to meet her eyes.  
  
Octavia bit her lip, but aside from that her face was stone. “I told him I was going to fight for trikru and he said I would get myself killed. He followed me into battle and—” her eyes welled up with tears but she fought them back, “—I didn’t even notice he was there until it was too late. A grounder’s sword almost gutted me but he put himself between me and it.”  
  
Of course he did. No matter how much they fought, no matter how much Octavia pushed him away, he would die for her without a second thought. He really was an idiot.  
  
“Clarke, I would never have asked him to fight with me. He’s not a trained warrior; he didn’t stand a chance against any of those other clans. I know I shouldn’t have told him my plan, I just didn’t think—”  
  
“Exactly!” Clarke stopped her. “You didn’t think—you _never_ think, do you? You do shit without thinking of the ramifications. You’ve been putting him through hell since Lincoln died, and yet, the second you put your life on the line, he’s there to step in and save you. You don't—” She stopped, biting her tongue, and looked down at Bellamy, the boy whose entire life has been spent looking after and protecting his little sister. _You don’t deserve him._  
  
“You think I don’t know that?” Octavia raised her voice and stood up; the chair she was sitting in was shoved out behind her. “I know he’s given up everything for me over and over again and I _hate_ that. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t ask to be born. I didn’t ask to burden him with my existence.” She paused and regained her composure; her mask fell into place, and Clarke could see the front Octavia had been putting up for months was just that: a front. Not real. Her way of keeping herself from breaking. “Besides,” Octavia continued, taking the rag back from Clarke and once again wiping Bellamy’s cheek, her gentle movements so at odds with the steel in her voice, “I’m pretty sure he would have followed almost any person he even remotely cared about into battle. If you haven’t noticed by now, my brother’s got a death wish.”  
  
Clarke took a breath and tried to calm her nerves. She knew Octavia was right, nobody could have stopped Bellamy from sacrificing himself for his people. But as she looked at Bellamy lying there helpless, she couldn’t help but curse herself for not being there to try. Back before she went to Becca’s lab, he had tried to tell her something. _Clarke, if I don’t see you again_ , he had started, but she cut him off. She couldn’t imagine a world without him. Now, she wishes she had let him finish.  
  
Clarke walked over to the window and looked outside; the sun was shining as if nothing was wrong, as if Bellamy wasn’t in critical condition, as if the radiation wasn’t going to be there soon. She hated the thought that in just a few days she was going to be sealed underground for five years: five years without feeling the sun on her face or seeing the trees all around her or smelling the scent of wildflowers on a breeze. Even worse was the unremitting thought in the back of her mind that she might have to do it without Bellamy.  
  
She heard a sound behind her and whipped her head around, thinking—hoping—it was Bellamy, but his eyes were still closed and Octavia had her hands folded around his, her tears falling silently on his chest. “I’m so sorry, Bell. I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” She kissed his forehead, and then noticed Clarke watching. After wiping her tears, she brushed Bellamy’s hair off out of his face and whispered, “Please wake up.”  
  
With that, she unsheathed her sword and turned to Clarke. “I’m going back out there.”  
  
“Octav—”  
  
“Clarke, Indra said she would get the son of a bitch who did this. I have to make sure she’s okay. Will you stay with him?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Octavia turned and started for the door.  
  
“Hey, Octavia,” Octavia turned back, determination on her face, “Don’t die.”  
  
The corner of her mouth quirked up. “My specialty.”  
  
She hated that it took Bellamy almost dying for Octavia to stop fighting him, but when Bellamy wakes up ( _if_ , her brain niggled) she knows he’ll feel so much better with his sister by his side. Clarke hopes Octavia will apologize again when he’s actually conscious.  
  
Clarke took up residence in Octavia’s abandoned chair and just sat there. She was absentmindedly stroking Bellamy’s hand, her fingers stopping every now and then on his wrist so she could feel his pulse and remind herself that she hadn’t lost him. _Yet._ She pushed that intruding thought out of her head again and instead thought about everything they’d been through together since landing on Earth. She thought back to the first words they ever spoke to each other ( _Stop! The air could be toxic_ ) ( _If the air’s toxic we’re all dead anyway_ ). She smiled; it seemed like a million years ago. She remembers the first couple days—weeks, really—when they argued all the time. But then suddenly their fighting turned to bickering to playful badgering and she realized she was glad she had him to help her lead. She doesn’t think she could have done it without him. He was her anchor, her rock; he kept her steady and, well, centered.  
  
She remembers their conversation by the tree on their day trip. He revealed a part of himself she had never seen before, and she saw how truly good he was. She was hit with a realization, and she told him she needed him.  
  
She remembers running to him the first time she saw him after she escaped Mount Weather; the way the force of her hug surprised him at first, but it only took a second for him to hug her back and she wished he would never let go because his arms held her so tight she felt whole. She had missed him, but she didn’t tell him that.  
  
She remembers saying goodbye to him outside the gates of Arkadia. She hugged him once again, but this hug was filled with sorrow and regret and feelings she couldn’t put into words.  
  
She remembers every time he showed up to save her. She remembers almost losing him.  
  
She remembers being scared to enter the City of Light and reaching for his hand, needing his strength.  
  
She remembers him giving it to her. She remembers him _always_ giving it to her.  
  
She traces the veins in his arms, blood pumping through them, keeping him alive. _I need you_. Her eyes follow the map of freckles on his face; she had never told him how much she liked them. _I need you._ She watches the rise and fall of his chest as he manages shallow breaths; every breath he took, she savored. _I need you. I need you. I need you._  
  
_I love you._  
  
And then she was crying.  
  
The tears were unrelenting, so Clarke rested her head on Bellamy’s arm and let them flow.  
  
_We’ll get through this. We need each other. If I’m on that list, you’re on that list. Together. Together. Together._  
  
A patchwork of fleeting moments, ephemeral themselves, that created an intense, infinite bond.  
  
They were always supposed to be _together_. At the end of the day—at the end of the world—it was supposed to be them standing side by side.  
  
Eventually she sat up, wiped her face with her sleeve, and grabbed the washcloth again, focusing her efforts on cleaning the blood off his torso.  
  
When Abby had radioed her earlier that day, she had said that Bellamy suffered a stab wound to his abdomen and that there may be a minor amount of internal bleeding, but she didn’t have the proper tools to stop it. All they could do was hope it stopped on it’s own. So that’s what Clarke was doing. Hoping. Waiting. Hoping some more.  
  
And then Bellamy’s chest stilled underneath her hands.  
  
“Bellamy!” She jumped up and immediately checked if he was breathing. He wasn’t.  
  
She started chest compressions. “You’re gonna be okay, Bellamy. You’ll be okay.” She kept going until she reached thirty, then she checked his airway. He still wasn’t breathing. She gave him two rescue breaths. He still wasn’t breathing. She continued chest compressions. He still wasn’t breathing.  
  
“Please don’t leave me, Bellamy. Please.” She started crying, but kept going.  
  
And then he took a breath.  
  
“Oh, Bellamy,” she covered her mouth and released a grateful sob. As Bellamy resumed breathing on his own, the tears kept falling from her eyes. She grabbed his hand and pulled it to her mouth, kissed it, and kept murmuring “you’re okay.” His hand twitched in hers and she looked up to find his eyes opening, and she thought she wouldn’t mind seeing him wake up everyday for the rest of their lives.  
  
“You’re alive.” She smiled through the tears and brushed his hair from his forehead.  
  
“Apparently,” he muttered, and then gave the smallest of smiles that Clarke cherished.  
  
“You gave me a scare.”  
  
“Sorry about that; next time I’m about to get skewered I’ll think _how would this make Clarke feel?_ ”  
  
She went to nudge him but thought better of it and poked his shoulder instead. “I see you still have your sense of humor.”  
  
“You can take the breath out of the man but the humor always stays.”  
  
“An old proverb?”  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
Clarke laughed and Bellamy, well, he _attempted_ to laugh but ending up groaning through the pain it caused.  
  
“Promise me you’ll never do that again.” Clarke said, seriously.  
  
“Make a joke? Sorry, I can’t do that.”  
  
“I’m serious.”  
  
“You always are, princess.” He smiled at her again and then continued with a fierce sincerity that surprised Clarke, “I, Bellamy Blake, do solemnly swear that I will try my very hardest to not almost die.”  
  
“Thank you. Now, get some rest.” That was all it took for him to close his eyes.  
  
She could still hear the sounds of the people fighting outside, but in this moment all she cared about was the boy lying in front of her. Alive. Before he had a chance to doze off, Clarke leaned in, took his head in her hands, and put her forehead against his. Her blonde waves formed a curtain around the two of them. Their noses were touching, and the only sound was their breathing. He slowly reached his arms up and let his fingers trace her arms, just barely touching them. 

Clarke realized she was crying again, her tears were falling from her eyes to his cheeks. “I can’t lose you,” she whispered. 

His hands were cupping her face, and she moved back slightly so she could see his face. With his thumbs he wiped away her tears, and then he said, “You won’t. Ever.”

And then he kissed her.

It was soft and brief, a promise of more, of the future. It said _I love you_ and _I need you_ and _I want this_. It said _one day._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos always appreciated. Find me on [tumblr](http://www.sanabakkosh.tumblr.com)!


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